The city groans beneath the weight of its own nostalgia.

Ink drips from the ceilings of the Grand Assembly Hall, pooling around the marble feet of forgotten statues. The air is thick with static and memory—every flicker of light feels like a frame from a reel that’s been played too many times. Tonight, the Stars convene.

At the head of the obsidian table sits Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, the Director. His ears twitch with restrained tension, eyes scanning the room like a projector waiting to jam. To his left, Felix the Cat, Research Chief, lounges with a grin too sharp to be friendly, flipping through a dossier that hums with forbidden knowledge.

Mickey “Mick” Mouse, the Producer, adjusts his gloves with mechanical precision, his voice a velvet threat as he calls the meeting to order. Bugs Bunny, Head of Technology, leans back in his chair, chewing on a wire like it’s a carrot, eyes flickering with data streams.

Across from him, Dyle Timesly, Health Advisor, scribbles notes in a ledger that bleeds ink. Sonic the Hedgehog, Defense Chief, paces like a caged storm, his shoes leaving scorch marks on the floor. Mario, Infrastructure Head, arrives late, covered in soot and pipe grease, muttering about ruptured tunnels and rising pressure.

Pomni, Entertainment Lead, hums a tune no one remembers, her smile stretched too wide. Jessica Rabbit, Chief of Justice, sits poised, her gaze slicing through the room like a courtroom spotlight. And in the shadows, Sheba Beboporeba, Research Advisor, watches quietly, her presence felt more than seen.

The Machine is stirring. The ink is rising. And the Stars must decide: will they preserve the illusion of order, or let the reel burn?

Let the meeting begin.